Paella con mi hermana!

It's my second day in Salamanca. I am sleeping on my  sister's foam mattress pad on the linoleum floor of her room in the Residencia. Annie quietly steps around me, getting ready for her Spanish cinema class. I can hear drawers open and shut, the stream of water against brushing of  teeth.
It's early October. I took an overnight bus from Montpellier, with a Monoprix bag of bread, cheese, and chocolate, and slept through most of the 11 hour journey. Annie had met me at the bus station with a huge smile, and we happily ate churros con chocolate in a little cafetería while rain rapped against the window.

 "What time is it?" I half ask.
"Almost eight."
"Ughhhh"
"We'll take a siesta after lunch."
I lift my head enough to try and look out her window. The shutters, designed for steamy Spanish summer, are rolled down and give the impression of it being 2 am, not time for class.
 "How do you get anything done with these things?" I grumble at the shades. 
She grins, rolls it up. 
"It's great for napping."
I stay in my floor bed, clinging to any lingering traces of sleep. 
"You can stay here, if you want" She offers, but I decline. I'm quite keen to wander around by myself.
We walk to the Universidad. On the way, Annie points out some of Salamanca's characters. It's a small city, so it's easy to see the same people over and over. For example, there's "Spanish Bob Dylan" (it really is uncanny!), and a "living statue" type who is sprayed bronze, and is can be found doing anything except sitting still like a statue. 

The university is grand, ornate and steeped in history that only 900 years of establishment can bring. Yesterday, Annie showed me the famous Salamanca frog carved into the exterior of the university. Apparently, if you can spot it on your first day of school, you'll have a successful semester. Annie told me exactly where it was, and I still couldn't see it. Typical. 
Annie climbs the ancient stairwell to her class, and I go explore. It's another gorgeous day, with sun spilling all over the winding streets. I peek into a tourist shop, sifting through trinkets, shotglasses and t-shirts emblazoned with a picture of a frog, or sometimes a Spanish flag, or a bull. 
I wander into a jamón shop. The smell...how does one describe the smell that immediately hits you upon entering a small shop full of cured pork? It smells musky yet bright, salty and pungent, and it dances around my nose enticingly. Big legs of ham hang by the walls, in the windows, from the ceiling. They're pale, almost white on the outside, but where the jamón has been shaved off, it is a deep pink with gleaming white marbling. Glorious. 
I stroll through the streets, the gentle breeze lifting my hair. Eventually I make my way back to Annie. 
"How was your morning?" She asks, after waving goodbye and exchanging a few words in Spanish with her friends. 
I smile, remembering the grand swirls of birds over my head, the autumnal rustling of the trees, the elderly men in dress pants and cardigans smoking cigarettes on benches. 
("Hat, cane, button down sweater and dress pants," Annie laughs, "might be my Halloween costume next year.") 
We find a cafetería for lunch, and get to pick two plates, a drink and dessert from the menu del dia.
We both have a glass of wine, and I choose paella for for my first course, and pork chops in a cheese sauce for my main plate. 
My paella finally arrives, and I am so pleased to be trying it for the first time in Spain. Annie is equally excited for me to try it, saying she often gets vegetarian paella, though her favorite Spanish food so far is a bocadillo de tortilla de patatas. 
Paella is a delight. Yellow, toothsome, briny, and savory, studded with peas, soft, sweet peppers, mussels, enormous crawfish and rings of squid. The rice had became crunchy and almost caramelized on the bottom, which apparently is the trademark of a good paella.

Annie!

 By the time we finish eating, we are definitely ready for a siesta.  Tonight, we are going to a friend of Annie's apartment to cook dinner and drink calimoxo, a student "cocktail" of red wine and Coke. Perhaps this afternoon, after our nap, we can watch a movie. In a few days, we will go to Madrid. All is good, and I am so happy to be able to experience Spain through the eyes of my little sister.

 

 Paella Mixta

Adapted from Menu del Dia by Rohan Daft 

This is a recipe that requires a lot of prep and steps, but is, in terms of execution, not difficult and produces a great meal. I changed a lot from the original recipe, most notably adding tumeric- mine just wasn't yellow enough, and I remember the host of my farm in Spain showing me a popular "paella spice blend" that included tumeric for color. It's up to you!

The olive oil seemed excessive to me, but the dish wasn't oily, so, I'm keeping it as the recipe said. However, feel free to experiment. 

Also, you can really use any kind of meat or seafood for this dish. As you see, I used clams instead of mussels because, well, I live in Massachusetts! It's really up to you.  I had paella with goat in Extremadura!  And it was amazing!

Ingredients

6-10 threads of saffron

1/4 cup olive oil

A pinch of tumeric

2 chicken breasts and 2 thighs, cut into bite size pieces

1 onion, chopped

1 red bell pepper, cut into bite size pieces

1/4 pound green beans, cut into inch pieces

2 cloves of garlic, chopped

2 tomatoes, skinned and cut into cubes

1/2 tsp Spanish paprika (pimentón)

1/2 cup peas, shelled

8 large prawns or langoustines, shell on

8 clams or mussels, scrubbed

2 1/2 cups short grain rice (I had arborio, but Spanish Bomba is what you're supposed to use)

4 1/2 cups chicken broth or water, heated

Salt

 

Preparation 

First, over low heat, gently toast the saffron. This will only be for about 10-15 seconds. Remove and set aside.

Pour all the olive oil into a large paella pan (or a frying pan), raise heat to medium,and add the chicken. Cook until browned.  Remove from pan and set aside.

Add garlic, tomatoes, saffron, tumeric and paprika. Stir and cook for about five minutes.

Add your peas. Stir in the browned chicken, prawns and clams to the pan. Cook for about five minutes, then remove half the shellfish and set aside. (This is just for the classic paella look!)

Add all your rice. Try to get it spread out as evenly as possible across the pan. Pour over all your stock and add salt. 

Take the shellfish that you said aside and arrange it artfully over the top of the rice. 

Cook for about fifteen minutes, or until the rice seems to have absorbed most of the liquid. 

Remove from heat and cover with newspaper for about ten minutes before serving; paella is meant to be eaten at room temperature!

Enjoy!

 

Moules Marinière...merci, Sete.

We wake up after a long, humid, wine soaked July night in Montpellier. I've grown used to the constant hum of the cicadas- a fixture in this part of France- mixing with the artificial and mandatory buzz of our beloved oscillating fan, Mistral. Three girls share this tiny studio, but we're generally comfortable and happy, despite the sticky mugginess.  

Lisa has a Latin class today, but Anna and I decide, on a happy whim, to go visit Sete, a small fishing village one train stop away. We wander to the Gare de Montpellier-Saint Roch, stopping at a random patisserie on the way. We examine the display of pastries, sweet smelling glossy packages of chocolate, cream, butter, sugar. We share a brioche Suisse and fougasse, both wrapped in crinkly parchment paper. Sucré et salé. 
While waiting for the train, Anna spots a 5 euro note scuttling around the platform. What a marvelous sign. This can buy us lunch, on top of the little container of leftover tomato rice we've brought along. 
Sete is a picture out of my childhood dreams. We gaze at the quaint, breezy village, the sparkling sea. We elect to spend our five euros at the street market, where vendors are hawking everything from aubergines to lightswitch covers. The air smells of the sea, which is a welcome change from Montpellier, where mounds of dog poo steam in the sun all day.  (Sorry, Montpellier. You are one of my favorite cities in the world, but this is an undisputed fact.) 
We wander the market, and land upon a warm, motherly woman selling tielle sétoise. We buy one, and some garlic prawns as well. I've had tielle sétoise before- my very first evening in Montpellier, back in September, with the magnificent couple who now rents us our little flat and treats us like daughters. Jean-Marie and Claire had served us this unique pie with a smile, urging us to guess what sea creature was inside. It took some gentle hinting for us to finally guess octopus. 

 We eat our snacks in a little park, and continue to explore. At a lovely covered market, I shyly ask how much it would cost to try my first oyster. She gives it to me for free, with a small napkin and lemon wedge. It is, of course, briny, slippery, cold and thrilling. We wander over to the shore, a bit confused about where the actual beach is. Eventually, we just hop the stone wall, not caring how the sun-baked rock burns our hands and legs. We find ourselves in a small enclave of sorts, populated by a little group of topless sunbathers from Spain and a scraggly man with his friendly black puppy. We spend hours picking at our rice, nodding off in the sun, and bobbing along in the glittering, warm sea. 
We tear ourselves away in the early evening, and on our way to the gare, find a fisherman selling mussels on a street corner. They are covered in sand and seaweed, and are only 2 euros per kilo. We buy some without hesitation, and then catch train back to Montpellier.

The air conditioned train is a relief. We're quiet on the way home, in the hazy way that I usually am after a day immersed in sun and water.  We shoot a text message to Lisa. "Don't eat. Don't cook. Moules on their way." 
After a brief stop at Intermarche for wine and baguettes, Anna and I burst through the open door of our apartment.  Lisa and Ben are drinking wine, awaiting dinner. At this point, I have a fully developed sunburn, so I scrub and de-beard the mussels in my bathing suit. Ben creates a playlist on Grooveshark, and we merrily prepare dinner.
Soon enough, the four of us are sitting outside in Jean-Marie and Claire's peaceful rock patio, enjoying the evening breeze, white wine, and moules marinière. Stories, laughter and music float over the fig trees. The cicadas begin to resume their nightly lullaby. The red sun reluctantly sinks into the stuffy summer sky, giving way to lazy July stars.
It's moments like this where my heart twists, because I know I will not be here forever, and yet I feel so bound to something as simple yet magnificent as a slow summer evening in France.
Around ten, the last scrap of baguette has soaked up what's left of the remaining pools of juices from the mussels. We get our shoes, a few euros, and, with my moment of premature nostalgia complete, head into the festive Montpellier night. 

Moules Marinière

Ingredients

3-4 lbs musells, scrubbed and de-bearded (it's best to wait until the last minute to de-beard, however)

3/4 cup white wine

3 shallots, chopped. (Or, use one small onion and 2 cloves of garlic)

1 laurel or bay leaf.

A small knob of butter

Parsley, chopped thinly

1 ripe, chopped tomato (optional)

  

Preparation

First, and this may be the most important, is to discard any mussels that are already opened. Some may be just slightly open- try giving them a tap and if they close, that means they're still alive and are okay to cook. Any that have died must be tossed! 

In a large pot (a stockpot is a good idea) melt some butter and cook shallots until just translucent, and then add your mussels, wine, and laurel. Bring to a boil and let steam. If you'd like, you can add your chopped tomatoes now. That makes it less traditional, but gives it a sunny, Provençal flair. (Especially nice if you've used garlic instead of shallots!) 

Once most of the mussels have opened, remove from heat. 

Discard any mussels that have stayed shut.

Sprinkle parsley over your mussels, and season lightly with pepper. You probably won't need salt, but taste and make your own conclusion...

Serve immediately, with lots of nice crusty bread. Soaking up those juices with bread is the best part! 

Bon Appetit!

Camarones de Nuevo México

When I first started this blog, I mentioned how, when I interview people about food, I always ask them which dish, if seen at a party, would make them say "Yay!"

The phrasing of the question may be silly, but it always seemed to translate. Everybody feels glee over certain food items, especially ones that they don't tend to make regularly. For instance, as I said in the previous entry I would have that reaction to a good charcuterie plate. 

A friend of mine from Mexico answered "camarones with garlic, butter and lime."  So delicious, so simple. I decided to give it a New Mexican spin, with green chiles! I unfortunately, but unsurprisingly could not find my beloved Hatch green chiles, so I used Anaheims. Occasionally real Hatch green chiles will pop up in markets outside of New Mexico, but it's rare, and it's not the right season anyhow...

If you've never deveined shrimp or prawns before, don't worry. It's not as fiddly as it seems, although it does take time. Rinse your crustaceans in a colander with cold water, and peel off everthing but the tails. (As you can see in my picture, I accidentally pulled the tail off a few) Using a paring knife, cut lightly down the icky dark line along the arch, and pull it out. It may come out in a couple of pieces. I found, upon doing this for the first time, that it takes a few to get the hang of it, and then it just becomes busy work for your hands.

Camarones de Nuevo México

Ingredients

1/2 lb (225 g) raw shrimp or prawns, peeled and deveined 

1 Hatch green chile, diced. (Anaheim works fine, though won't have the same kick. Another chile of your choice could also work, of course!) 

2 tablespoons butter (salted works nicely here)

3 cloves of garlic

1 lime

A small handful of cilantro, chopped  

Preparation

Preheat oven to 350º F/175ºC. 

 In a small, ovenproof dish, spread out your shrimp.

 In a pan, heat a small amount of either butter or clear oil and add your chiles and garlic. Once soft, add 2 tablespoons of butter. Melt over low heat and remove from heat. If your butter is unsalted, add some salt to it. 

Pour over your shrimp. Make sure it's coated well, then pop in the oven.

It won't require very long in the oven. Maybe ten minutes? It depends on the size of your shrimp. Just cook until they are all pink.

Squeeze over the juice from your lime, sprinkle with cilantro, and serve!

¡Buen Provecho!

Quinoa and Salmon Salad

Here I am conducting a food interview on the kibbutz!

This recipe is inspired by the very first food interview I ever conducted. The interviewee was my delightful friend (and my kibbutz roommate!) Rebecca, who grew up in Sweden. She mentioned that she liked to make a salad of quinoa and gravlax. It sounded so good- light, fresh, simple.
So, recently, I've been trying to find lots more people to interview. I'm just on a roll with it, I guess. So I've been looking over the interviews I've already typed out, I saw Rebecca's mention of a quinoa and lax salad, and I knew that a spin on that was exactly what I wanted for dinner.... 
I knew I wanted to use rocket, because I'm obsessed with it. (Fun fact: eating it before bedtime gives you crazy dreams!) The fennel aspect happened because I, from far away in the supermarket, thought it was dill! I walked closer, saw it was fennel, and thought... "Fennel! Hmm....." And somehow the fennel lead to the lemon and honey. I don't know. It sounds weird. But I loved how different yet complimentary all the flavors were...and the textures! 
 By the way...if you are interested in being food- interviewed, please drop me a line. I don't care if I don't know you- we can do it through email!  
Onward...

  

Salmon and Quinoa Salad

Ingredients

1/2 cup sprouted quinoa

About 2 cups of rocket/arugula leaves

4 oz smoked salmon, cut into bite sized pieces

1/2 bulb fennel, julienned

1/2 red onion, chopped finely

The juice from 1/2 a large lemon 

4 tbsp sunflower or other innocous oil (olive just seems a bit overpowering a flavor for this)

1 tsp honey

a good pinch of dried dill, or a larger amount of fresh, chopped. 

Preparation

Prepare the quinoa according to the package. This will take about 15 minutes to cook up, so in the meantime...

Whisk together your lemon juice, oil and honey. Season with salt, pepper and dill.

Toss all of your ingredients together when the quinoa is reading. Add the dressing last, since the greens wilt very easily.

Speaking of easy, how simple is this recipe? 

This makes a great dinner for two, or a side salad for more.

Enjoy!